


Magnetic North

by TactheJoker



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TactheJoker/pseuds/TactheJoker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was my very first fanfic.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Magnetic North

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first fanfic.

He didn’t know how long he had been walking, several minutes, maybe several hours, who knew? He certainly didn’t, but still he walked on; forsaken by his keen sense of smell and hearing in this storm and stumbling blind in the wild like an abandoned newborn pup.  
He had been walking long enough for it to start snowing again, and long enough for the light snow to turn into a blizzard. His senses were useless to him in the endless white, his hearing and scenting ability were shot because of the howling wind bringing sounds and tainted scents to him, but never letting them linger long enough for him to make sense of them; it would bring them and whisk them away, teasing, giving him hope where there was none.   
He was in great danger out here.  
Wounded so grievously, and his healing-factor working overtime to ward off not only frost-bite and hypothermia but also trying to work on closing the gapping wound in his side. Thankfully, that had frozen shut a while ago and was not bleeding anymore, but exhaustion from his over-worked healing factor and struggling against the elements was starting to overwhelm him.  
His uniform hung in tatters off of his body; the biggest piece was part of a sleeve that came off of his shoulder and still held on by his semi-intact collar. His mask was long since burnt-off his face and the rest of his uniform was strewn about in various places, never to be seen again by human eyes.   
The freezing wind bit at him without mercy, stealing away all feeling in his numbing body; he couldn’t feel his naked thighs anymore. Neither could he feel his right foot, he lost the ruined boot in a snow-drift about ten miles back, but he still had his left boot and it wasn’t in too bad condition; he wished he could say that about himself.  
Yes, he was badly hurt, and freezing to death, but he continued on in his numb stupor because he was searching for something; he knew it would be there, he had been promised it always would be if he was willing to take the risk to seek it out. His life depended on finding The Pull. The Pull would guide him north, to safety, to shelter; he had been promised, and he needed to locate it. And the only way he could do that was to keep moving in what he believed to be a northerly direction.

* * * 

He could barely feel now.  
His senses had failed him and his mind was slowly shutting down, his body numbing, dying, from the intense cold. First, the area between his exposed thighs, then his fingers in his tattered gloves, and his bear toes, then his legs, arms, and finally the other foot inside his now wet boot; he stumbled again and again but forced himself up each time. It wouldn’t be very long until the cold reached his torso and closed over his heart. Could he survive that? Would his healing-factor work then? He didn’t know, and he was almost desperate not to find out. In times like these in the past he would have welcomed death; he would have been willing to see if the frost could have drug him down into oblivion, but not now. There was too much for him to live for, too many people he wanted to see again, in particular that one face, that one beautiful face to touch again.  
Just one last touch…  
Then he felt it, the caress of his lover brushed against his frozen hand, he felt it touch his metal-laced bones and disappear. In that instant he panicked, he tried to let out a cry but perhaps his vocal cords had frozen because nothing but a strangled cough left his throat. He thrashed around in the blizzard running forward, each painful step taking more out of him than the last; then there it was again, touching his skeleton then lacing around each individual bone, and latching onto it with the grip of a vice. He was lifted up out of the snow, into the howling air, and was whisked away over the white land.   
He was at the mercy of the Pull and the beating of the relentless winds, but no matter how hard the icy wind battered his abused body, no matter how hard they tugged at him they could not take him out of the Pull’s grasp.  
He flew over the snow-covered ground; endless, never changing white in his eyes passed by; so weak and dazed was he that he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw a dark smudge against the white. It grew larger, bigger, and darker as the Pull carried him on; a second smaller figure immerged as a dark blot, and he was drawn down to it. The figure was the one who had sent out the magnetic beacon for him to follow, to the North where he would be within grasping distance, and where he could be pulled to safety. That growing figure was the one who carried him now over these endless plains of white, and who opened up his great maroon cape to envelop him in its boundless warmth.  
He recognized the scent, the firm muscles under the dark cloth; he raised his weary head to gaze into the aristocratic face that could not hide its relief, electric blue eyes that melted into tears. Strong arms that belied the old man’s age held him up and pressed close to his body, freely giving what warmth he could to the ravaged mutant in his embrace.   
“Wolverine!” The Master of Magnetism cried over the howling winds. “My Wolverine! You damned fool, I thought you to be dead!”   
Logan managed a small smirk for his leader, his mate, and with a weak hand tried to brush some of Eric’s wind-blown hair, as white as the snow around them, away from the classically handsome face, but he had no more strength even for such a tender action, and his hand fell back down. He was able to manage a smirk though; enough of one to re-assure his lover. Through chattering teeth he managed to say, “T-take more’n a f-few scrat-tches to b-bring me d-down b-bub!”  
Magneto laughed through his joyful tears that froze to his cheeks and eyelashes, “Always the brash, thick-headed idiot!” He kissed his diminutive lover’s frozen lips, and with the help of his magnetic power he picked Logan up, and cradled the cloak-wrapped form in his arms.  
“That’s why I love you, do you know that?” Eric asked. “Damn me, but I love you.”   
“D-damn straight y-you do bub, an’ the feelin’s fuck-kin’ mutual. Now hu-rry the h-hell up; it’s f-freezin’ out here, o-or didn’t you n-notice?”  
Magneto laughed again and carried his precious cargo up to the Blackbird where the other X-Men waited.


End file.
